


And the rest be sent to Hell

by aliceecrivain



Series: Your Original Sin [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Biting, Body Horror, Choking, Deception, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Hannibal AU, Horror, Implied Cannibalism, M/M, Manipulation, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Rough Sex, brief descriptions of gore, it's brief but it's there, stay with me now lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 22:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21363583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliceecrivain/pseuds/aliceecrivain
Summary: Aziraphale is sent by Heaven to find a certain man as they believe him to be important to the Great Plan. However, he soon finds that the man in question is missing without a trace. In an effort to find out more, Aziraphale visits the man's psychiatrist, one of the people to see him last. He finds himself drawn to the strange man and ultimately bites off more than he can chew when said man turns out to not be what he seems.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Your Original Sin [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540123
Comments: 10
Kudos: 67





	And the rest be sent to Hell

**Author's Note:**

> so this is the one that really made me make this into a series. i suspect she will remain the least popular of my children in this series lmao but i killed myself writing her so i love her nonetheless. it's understandable: not everyone wants to suddenly be slapped in the face with a serious hannibal au hfkdjl;faj
> 
> which is what this is. that's what you have clicked on and are about to read.
> 
> hannibal as in the nbc tv series that ran from 2013-2015 with mads mikkelsen (whomst we stan) and hugh dancy, not as in the worst of the hannibal-centered movies. do i think you need to have seen it to know what's going on? probably not as long as you have an idea of hannibal as a character. do i think you'll enjoy it more if you have? probably
> 
> look at this way: if you know what's going on, you get dramatic irony. if you don't, it'll be a fun surprise :)
> 
> please mind the tags this is an actual attempt at horror-esque writing and is a true au, not a "ooh it's a scary situation but don't worry ;););) it's just a bdsm scene" nope we in this for real my dudes

The man Aziraphale was meant to be seeking out—something or other about head office thinking he was important to the Great Plan—had gone missing.

That wasn’t out of the ordinary but it was certainly inconvenient for him. He hadn’t met the man so he couldn’t very easily seek him out, especially in the middle of London of all places. No, he would have to be more creative. It occurred to him that there were much better things he could be doing with his time other than seeking out this one man who might or might not be important to theoretical future events, the time of occurrence of which was also unknown. However, when Upstairs told him to do something like this, he tended to just bite his tongue and get it over with.

Aziraphale disliked that he’d had to do some quite un-angelic things to get anywhere with this mission, but he never would have made any progress without some miraculous favors from some of the officers working on the case. They weren’t doing all that well either, but they did know the last few people who’d seen him.

Two of those were his wife and son. They were, understandably, distraught at the moment so Aziraphale thought he ought to leave them for last if possible. A few others: his barber, a clerk at the local grocery market, a neighbor, and, strangely, his psychiatrist.

“Psychiatrist?” Aziraphale asked, surprised. Perhaps this man needed his aid more than he’d thought.

“Yep,” the officer said. “Wife said he’d been dealing with some depression or some such but lately it’s just kept getting worse. Talked to him a bit already. He was completely compliant but didn’t have much helpful he could say what with patient confidentiality and all that. We’d have to subpoena the patient files, get a warrant, all that and we will if it comes to it, but all of us here would rather not go through the trouble if we can help it.”

Slowly Aziraphale nodded. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt that this was the path to pursue. At least he could get to know more about this apparently-important man if he could talk to the psychiatrist. And it might be an interesting talk, as well, which he would rather enjoy. “I see. Where was this psychiatrist’s place of work again?”

\- / / -

He lived a short while outside the city where things weren’t so packed together and the houses were larger. The streetlights were just beginning to flicker on when Aziraphale walked up the front steps to ring the doorbell. He’d wanted to wait long enough that he didn’t interrupt any appointments—although truth be told he wasn’t entirely sure how psychiatry appointments worked—but now he was afraid he might have showed up a bit too late to be polite.

Still, he stood there and waited, curious as to what he would find. It took a minute or two but eventually the door opened.

The man who stood before him was tall and thin. He was dressed in an expensive if questionably-fashionable suit with his hair styled expertly, bright on top of his head like fire. He was also wearing a strange pair of glasses that looked like they ought to be worn outdoors rather than in.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

Aziraphale shook himself. “Yes, well, that is—are you Mr. Anthony J. Crowley?”

“_Dr._,” the man corrected even as a small smile crept across his face. “But yes, that’s me. Might I ask who wants to know?”

“Yes, sorry, Dr. Crowley,” Aziraphale corrected himself, not meaning to seem rude. “I’m not sure if this is a good time for you but I’d hoped you might answer some questions about the recent disappearance of your patient, Will Graham.”

The man’s smile spread and he leaned up against the doorframe. Aziraphale got the feeling that he was being looked over quite thoroughly and couldn’t say he entirely disliked it. “You make it sound like I’m being accused of something.”

“Oh, no!” Aziraphale said, probably too loud, shaking his head. “Not at all! I apologize if it came off that way.”

“Just a little,” the man said and Aziraphale could have sworn he winked behind his glasses. “But, since that’s not the case and I don’t need to call my lawyer, can I ask if you’re with the police? They already spoke to me, you see.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that as well,” Aziraphale agreed. “I’m…a private investigator, you understand, and so we both thought it best if we work on the case separately and then come together if one of us finds something. I am…working in _conjunction_ with the police.” He was scrambling a bit, realizing he should have come up with something better beforehand and worried now that the doctor would ask for some identification that he’d have to fabricate.

“I see,” was all he said.

The doctor allowed the crisp night air to flow between them freely for a moment erring on the side of uncomfortable in length before he spoke again. Aziraphale was on the brink of telling him “never mind, sorry for the trouble” when he did.

“Well, I think you ought to come in then,” he suggested, straightening up and stepping aside, gesturing Aziraphale into his home.

Aziraphale blinked, taken by how easily the man had trusted him. He perhaps shouldn’t have been. He—and other angels—tended to have that effect on people but this felt different. This felt like permission being willingly given.

“Thank you very much, Doctor,” Aziraphale said, nodding at him as he stepped inside.

“Just Crowley is fine,” he replied, shutting the door behind Aziraphale and locking it.

Aziraphale thought that was a bit contradictory to his earlier correction, but didn’t think much of it. Humans were strange like that about their names sometimes.

Crowley was certainly a wealthy man. Aziraphale didn’t see much of the house but what he did told him that much. Its décor wasn’t much to his taste, too dark and sparse, but it was all put together quite elegantly. The various pieces of art caught his eye in particular and he wished he had time to further observe them.

Crowley led him silently from the front door into an entryway which housed a large marble staircase that led up into a cloud of darkness that was the upper half of the house, a hall leading off to the right, and door propped open slightly through which light was trickling forth. The foyer seemed to have been transformed into something like a waiting area, what with the black leather chairs placed here and there.

“You work from your home?” Aziraphale asked, his voice echoing. The ceilings were very high, he noted, even if he couldn’t see them.

“Yes,” Crowley agreed, walking over to the partially closed door and pulling it open. “It’s more convenient that way.”

“Don’t you worry about giving out your address?” Aziraphale had found that humans were rather protective of that information.

Crowley smiled again, wider this time. “Not particularly.”

Aziraphale was distracted from his odd answer when he stepped into the new space. It was large and open and was presumably where Crowley met patients what with the desk and various couches lying about, but it looked more like a museum than a therapist’s office. A stone fireplace was lit along one wall, throwing orange light across the room and warming it somewhat. Large maroon curtains hung down over the vast windows, shutting out the rest of the world. What captured most of Aziraphale’s interest, however, was the rolling ladder that could be ascended to reach the innumerable bookshelves lining the room’s upper walls, acting like a sort of balcony. He couldn’t help but gape.

“I take it you like it,” Crowley laughed, nudging the door mostly shut behind him. “I’ve gotten some mixed reviews, but I think it’s quite nice.”

“You have quite the collection,” Aziraphale said, still running his eyes around the rows, wondering what titles were contained within them. He knew if he were allowed to spend time looking through them he’d get to know the doctor better than he ever would by simply talking to him. “It’s very impressive.”

“Thank you very much,” Crowley said, preening some and Aziraphale didn’t blame him for it. “Want to sit down?”

Crowley was an interesting person to talk to. He was a bit strange, Aziraphale thought, but generally helpful and not in the least boring. They spoke about things both of them already knew for a while but even that wasn’t too dull.

The house had a strange feeling to it, Aziraphale noticed after some time inside it. It was something like the general humanity all non-ethereal beings gave off, but concentrated. There was more of it here than one would have thought with the house having only one resident—which Aziraphale knew because he’d asked. He eventually decided it must be because so many people came and went so often, or maybe in part because of Crowley himself. Some humans simply had more of that intrinsic quality than others.

“What was Will like?” Aziraphale eventually asked, his eyes catching the impressive pair of antlers mounted over top of the fireplace, not for the first time. (“Decorative,” Crowley had assured him which made him feel a bit better.)

Crowley raised an eyebrow and sat further back in his chair. “You know I can’t tell you that, Mr. Fell.”

“Not medically. I just meant, what was your general opinion of him as a person?”

Crowley pursed his lips, considering. His position on the couch wasn’t particularly professional and it was making the fabric of his suit stretch over his body in very interesting ways. “I believe he had a lot of people counting on him for things he didn’t deliver. One way or another that led him here. I find patients often tumble off hills like that. They let themselves slip just a little and then before they know it they’re at the bottom in my waiting room.”

Aziraphale nodded. It would be easier if Will wasn’t a loner, he knew, easier to find him if there were people who knew him. Admittedly, at the moment, Aziraphale wasn’t thinking much about Will. “Why did you choose to be a psychiatrist?” he asked, re-crossing his legs, unable to help himself.

Crowley tilted his head at him. The edge of his jaw seemed sharper and the contours of his face deeper backlit by the firelight as they were. “That doesn’t seem all that relevant to the case.”

“I know,” Aziraphale admitted, looking down at his shoes. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m just a bit curious. I’ve never met a psychiatrist before.”

The fire crackled in the background and Aziraphale wondered what exactly he was doing. He was meant to be on a mission. He had no reason to be interrupting this man’s life, bothering him with questions from a stranger. He should have left a half hour ago. He shouldn’t have wanted more than anything to stay just a while longer.

“I used to be a normal sort of doctor,” Crowley told him, “but I got tired of it all after a while. I like to talk to people. I like to see how their minds work. Seemed like a good fit.”

Aziraphale was looking at him again without meaning to, leaning forward on his legs to listen. “Might I ask what you’ve found out so far?”

Crowley shrugged. “People’s minds are all of one design,” he said. “If and how they choose to use them, well, that’s the beauty of free will isn’t it? I treat people who’ve lost control of that will and those who very much haven’t, but concern themselves and others deeply with what they do with it. The former is repression of the latter, you see.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Is there such a thing as too much free will?”

“That’s the question isn’t it,” Crowley said. “Seeing how laws exist I suppose there must be.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened when he realized what Crowley was saying. “Ah. What about those who don’t have as much free-will, if any, to begin with? How do you treat them?”

“It depends.” Crowley flicked his tongue out to wet his lower lip and stretched his long legs out in front of him. All around them the room glowed. “But oftentimes I show them everything that they could have if only they reached for it. To shake off the subconscious and find agency. I teach them how to want again.”

\- / / -

That was three months ago now.

No progress had been made on the case, especially not by Aziraphale himself, and he was going regularly now to meet with Crowley.

He still wasn’t exactly sure why, but he couldn’t help but feel drawn to the man in a way he normally wasn’t drawn to humans. Part of him couldn’t help but want to cut himself some slack. He hadn’t had a friend in a very long time. He acknowledged that now wasn’t a great time to find one, but time was never a very convenient thing.

Crowley himself was, as Aziraphale had suspected, sort of strange. He said things sometimes that Aziraphale didn’t quite know what to do with, but the same was true the other way around so it evened out. He was well-read on several topics, particularly medicine and human biology, as well as history which he seemed to have an almost encyclopedic knowledge of.

“It helps take my mind off things, reading history books,” Crowley had told him at one point. “Kind of a comfort to know that people have always been this way, they just hadn’t invented a science to deal with it yet.”

If he didn’t know enough to speak about a topic it hardly mattered. The majority of his responses to anything were eccentric enough to spur the conversation forward. He also seemed legitimately interested in what Aziraphale had to say which was not something he’d experienced much in his very long life. That was a hard thing not to be attracted to.

He knew he was ignoring the case itself, but he sort of doubted it mattered. Heaven had only had a hunch he was important and they really _didn’t _check in all that much. Sometimes he thought they gave him tasks just as busywork, not that he would ever tell them that. The police still had a few leads they were trying out so he thought it would be better to let them handle things and only alter the natural course of history if absolutely necessary. That was his argument at least.

In the meantime, he and Crowley drank tea and talked, sometimes late into the evening when the tea was traded for wine. One memorable night he’d finally clambered his way up that ladder in the office and dug through Crowley’s book collection while Crowley watched him from the floor below. Many more shelves than should have been possible were stuffed full with what seemed to be patient files but the rest were books proper. Among them, he found a surprising amount of books on cooking and gardening.

Which led him to where he was now, sitting in Crowley’s very chrome, very modern kitchen on a stool by the island, watching Crowley chop vegetables. He’d already been shown his quite extensive herb garden which lived in a carefully monitored pantry nearby. All this because Crowley had invited him to dinner and refused to take no for an answer.

“I never took you for the cooking type,” Aziraphale pointed out, swirling his wine around in his glass, unsure how to feel about the situation. It felt more intimate than their other chats, perhaps because he was finally inside of Crowley’s home proper, not just his workspace.

Crowley shrugged, turning to give the large pot simmering quietly on the stove a stir. “Guess the herbs got me started. Cooking’s a big part of history too. Old recipes are bonkers when you really start to look at them. Eyeball usage seriously declined with the invention of food labels.”

Aziraphale laughed. “I’d have to agree with you there. The ingenuity in modern cooking really is something.”

Crowley glanced over his shoulder at him. He never did take off his glasses. Aziraphale hadn’t been able to bring himself to ask about it yet. “Something of a foodie are you?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I do like to sample new dishes when I can,” he admitted. “I feel I ought to try everything at least once.” Crowley’s eyebrows rose. “Food-wise, that is!” Aziraphale hurried to correct himself, staring down into the crimson vortex of his wine. He’d been saying an increasing amount of foolish things around Crowley recently and he didn’t like it one bit.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, he wasn’t quite sure—Crowley never said a thing about them. “That’s good of you. Next time maybe you’d like to sample one of my own dishes.”

_Next time_. Aziraphale’s mind snagged on the words like a cat’s claw on a frayed piece of fabric. It took him a moment to recover. It was true that this time around Crowley had insisted that he choose what was on the menu. Aziraphale had tried his best to dissuade him of the notion but in the end had given in.

“You might’ve made one tonight if that had been simpler,” Aziraphale pointed out, still feeling guilty over it.

“Not at all,” Crowley said, pushing the vegetables into the broth with the back of his knife. “Although if it’s shit there’s not much to be done about it. I’ve never made this before.”

Aziraphale forced himself not to continue apologizing physically. He glanced out the windows lining the wall near a smaller kitchen table (which they were apparently not eating at) at the sheet of white outside. It was well and truly winter now. He thought it might snow again tonight even. The bookshop got a bit drafty this time of year but Crowley’s home was always quite warm.

“I’m sure it’ll be lovely,” Aziraphale said, taking another swallow of wine.

Crowley turned back and leaned onto the granite counter across from him, his own wineglass in hand. “It has to cook for a bit now and then it’ll be done and we can eat.” He paused to refill their glasses with a practiced tilt of his wrist. “Are you a vegetarian?”

Aziraphale blinked. “I’m not.”

He swore he could see the corners of Crowley’s thin lips curl upwards. “I had only wondered because of the soup.”

“No, I’d just had some a while back in—at this particularly good Italian restaurant and was thinking of it.” It’d been in Rome but there was no need to mention that. “I wanted to try it again.”

Crowley nodded, taking a drink. Aziraphale watched his throat move. “That’s good. I’m best with meat you see.”

Aziraphale felt his cheeks grow hotter at that and wondered what exactly had gotten into him lately. It didn’t help that when he dared to raise his eyes Crowley was smiling wickedly at him. He didn’t respond to Aziraphale’s slip-ups but he certainly made a show of acknowledging his own what-seemed-to-be purposeful remarks.

“And you will see,” Crowley promised him, sipping at his wine again, the red of it clinging to his lips when he pulled his glass back.

A short while later they were sat at the dark wood of the formal dining table located upstairs, tucking into their dinner. A few candles flickered between them and the night outside glimmered. Between the atmosphere and the warm, heartiness of the soup Aziraphale couldn’t help but sigh contentedly.

“It’s alright then?” Crowley prodded him.

“It’s scrumptious,” Aziraphale assured him. It was different from the minestrone he’d had in Italy but not in a bad way. The flavors were different, altered here and there, and then there was the knowledge that this had been made especially for him. He felt warmth spread throughout his limbs and was helpless to stop it. “This is all so lovely. Do you like it?”

Crowley was stirring his soup more than eating it. The candlelight reflected sharply off his glasses and back at Aziraphale. “Very much.”

Aziraphale ate another spoonful of soup to distract himself. He knew he needed to reign himself in. There was always a point during these nights that he told himself that, but tonight was worse than usual. He could feel Crowley watching him on and off as he ate, the weight of his gaze searing. It made him want to chew slower.

He knew this sort of thing never ended in any sort of satisfying way. It was like that with humans. He’d tried a few times, every few centuries or so. If the relationship formed naturally he tended to let it take its course. If that was what the other person wanted, he was happy to oblige, but he didn’t go out of his way to seek out opportunities.

This was different. Aziraphale couldn’t deny at this point that he was being…_courted_. He’d tried to doubt it on and off but the truth was there. And he was responding favorably. This time, he was involved. Rather than the other person steadily approaching him while he stayed stationary, this was much more like the two of them were circling each other, the space between them collapsing further and further with each interaction. This he wanted.

It scared him to think of it. He wasn’t really meant to want things and he could feel this quickly spiraling out of his control, ice turning to water in his hands. And yet here he was. Sitting and partaking and wanting.

“How’s the case coming along?” Crowley asked, breaking Aziraphale’s reverie. “Or am I not allowed to know.”

It was a joke and Aziraphale smiled. Need-to-know wasn’t a principle much adhered to under this roof. “Still nothing, I’m afraid.”

“That’s a shame,” Crowley said, although he didn’t seem particularly torn up about it, never had. Aziraphale supposed that was professional distance at work. “I suppose whoever hired you must be getting frustrated.”

Aziraphale thought briefly of Heaven and the complete lack of contact he’d received since the start of the assignment. That seemed like much longer ago now than it had been in actuality, the end of the year stretching out sluggishly, refusing to run its course with any sort of efficiency. “It’s an unfortunate situation for everyone involved. The police have yet to come across anything of particular use and I’m much the same.”

Crowley hummed and stirred his soup idly. “London’s like that. Big cities like this, people go missing all the time.”

Aziraphale swallowed down another few spoonfuls while he listened and then took his napkin and dabbed at his mouth before he responded. “It certainly seems like it. With no evidence having come to the surface yet and several dead-end leads, it appears as though the city has swallowed him whole.”

Something twitched in Crowley’s expression but he bit it back rather than allowing it to rise to the surface. Abruptly he stood and turned to Aziraphale. “More wine?”

Aziraphale blinked. “Yes please.” And then Crowley was off toward the wet bar nearby where he’d stashed the wine bottle. His stride was one of the most flagrant things Aziraphale had ever seen and couldn’t help but be distracted by that instead.

He was mostly finished with his soup by the time Crowley came back, carrying the wine bottle by the neck and small tray of something or another in his other hand. “Dessert,” he said by way of explanation, smiling widely.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, feeling very much like he was being prodded by someone who exactly where his weak points were located. “That wasn’t necessary.”

“It’s not fancy,” Crowley admitted, setting down the tray and filling their glasses. “Just a bit of sweet. I thought you might appreciate it.”

Aziraphale decided not to say one way or the other, instead eyeing the platter of chocolate-coated strawberries with interest. Crowley took one himself although he’d had little appetite for the soup, twirling it between his long, dexterous fingers. The atmosphere resettled like leaves after a particularly strong gust of wind, and he asked, “Have you lived in London long?”

The conversation dawdled in that direction for a short while. For the first period of their relationship they’d most spoken of philosophical or didactic matters, so this edging into more personal topics was more of a change than it might have otherwise seemed. It was nothing particularly serious—Aziraphale had his story straight enough after so many years on Earth—but it belied interest in the self rather than the mind alone, in the physical presence of the other person in the space.

It veered off again when Crowley, licking a bit of melted chocolate off the side of his finger distractingly, abruptly asked, “Do you believe in good and bad as a perfect dichotomy?”

Aziraphale might have sputtered at this blunt line of questioning before, but he’d gotten used to it over time with Crowley. He did have to wrench his eyes away from the quick flick of Crowley’s tongue however and that aided in his general lack of reaction. “Hm?”

“I’m curious,” Crowley continued, looking at Aziraphale directly, “particularly about a man in your profession, to know what you think.”

Aziraphale considered that. As an angel he did have a somewhat binary view of things naturally, although his time among humans had taught him that not everything was so clean cut. “Well, I don’t think there can be a complete, perfect division between the two. It would certainly depend on who was defining ‘good’ and ‘bad’ as well. Still I suppose there will always be a distinction between the two a majority of the time.”

Crowley hummed and Aziraphale couldn’t tell if he liked his answer or not. “That’s what makes cases like this so interesting. Even if the distinction exists, without certainty, nothing can be assigned with any peace of mind. If Will was murdered, then it’s a terrible accident and he was a good person done in by evil. The same if he was taken. But if he ran away of his own free will, fled for whatever reason, well… He left behind a wife and a child, all his responsibilities. That’s not something a good person would do.”

Aziraphale swallowed, parsing that. The idea made him uncomfortable. He didn’t like having to consider the idea that the worldview he’d been taught since his creation was deeply flawed. Still, he couldn’t help but note that the remark made him feel much less guilty about his current situation. “I still think it would depend on his reasons. Moreover, I’m not so sure anyone is truly evil. Anyone can be redeemed if they’re willing to do the work.”

“Willing to do the work, is it?” Crowley cocked his head and fiddled with the stem of his wine glass. “What about the people who don’t want to be redeemed? What about those who revel in it, who find benediction in their sins?”

Taking an overly large drink of his wine, Aziraphale couldn’t help but retreat. The conversation was growing a bit intense for his liking. “I suppose I wouldn’t know. I’m not arrogant enough to think that it’s up to me to pass ultimate judgement on anyone.”

Thankfully Crowley dropped the subject after that. Aziraphale dallied a bit longer at his table, watching the deep red wax of the candles drip down into the dishes below, diluting his blood and his judgement with good wine, and watching Crowley’s lips move. His teeth looked sharp, Aziraphale thought, but it might have just been a trick of the light. Eventually, however, he managed to get up and head towards the door.

Crowley followed after him slowly, not bidding him back but not showing any approval of his suggestions that it might be time to get going either. Aziraphale forced himself to keep moving anyway, eventually reaching his destination. He’d sober up outside to get home, but for now he remained pleasantly dizzy and light.

“Thank you so much again for the meal,” he said for at least the fourth time. “It really was lovely.”

Crowley smiled at him, standing close enough that the angel was forced to press up against the door. “It was my pleasure.”

Aziraphale looked down at his feet and was glad the flush he could already feel in his cheeks from the alcohol would disguise anything untoward that might result from that phrasing. When he tilted his head back up again he was struck by the ongoing desire to see Crowley’s eyes. With the barrier of his shades in place Aziraphale couldn’t tell at all what he was feeling. It was good in some respects because it caused him to hold back, unsure if this was all one-sided, but it was bad in others for the same reason.

He’d told himself it would be impolite to ask about it but at the moment he was drunk enough not to care and the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Why is it you always wear those glasses?”

Crowley’s posture stiffened somewhat and had he been sober Aziraphale would have backpedaled immediately. As it was, both of them were stuck with the question hanging in the air between them. It took Crowley a long moment to answer and in that time Aziraphale swore he saw several possibilities cross the other man’s face.

“People are generally more comfortable around me if I keep them on,” he eventually replied, each word carefully calculated.

Aziraphale leaned further against the door, letting his head fall back as well, exposing his neck. “Oh? I doubt it would bother me.”

Crowley’s eyes slid down. “I’m not so sure about that. I think it might bother you more than most.”

Aziraphale’s mind churned slowly, trying to work some meaning out of that and coming up empty. “You don’t know that.”

The other man’s smile grew thinner and tighter. “I’d put money on it.”

Aziraphale suspected he was pouting even if he hadn’t meant to. He couldn’t help it. He wanted to prove to Crowley that he wouldn’t be put off by something that was probably a simple abnormality. That sort of thing did have an effect on humans but he’d been around long enough to have seen just about everything.

More than that, something ancient and forbidden burned deep down in his gut: the desire to _know_.

For all that he was normally aloof, the act appeared to break something in Crowley and the set of his jaw slid into resignation. “You should come for dinner again soon. Chef’s choice this time.”

Aziraphale frowned, responsibility creeping back in along the edges of his psyche. He straightened up as best he could. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“If you come back,” Crowley said, words measured again even as his voice dropped lower, conspiratorial even, “I’ll show you. But think about it very carefully. You might not like what you find. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.”

Possibility unfurled before Aziraphale and he almost begged to be shown now. That old adage had never found much truth in his life. Aziraphale wanted to know. He loved knowing. “Alright. I’ll drop you a line then.”

Slowly Crowley nodded. “If you change your mind about it, my door will still be open.” _Things could go on the way they have been_, he seemed to be suggesting.

“Okay,” Aziraphale agreed although he had no intention of having a change of heart. He finally turned the doorknob and let a blast of cold air inside. That did quite a bit of the work of setting his head straight as it was. He shivered a bit, but Crowley didn’t seem affected. “Thank you again.” He stepped out onto the doorstep.

“Goodnight, Mr. Fell,” Crowley said and slowly shut the door, leaving Aziraphale alone out in the blustery night.

After sobering up, Aziraphale miracled himself back to the bookshop as quickly as possible. He really needed to adjust the temperature sensitivity on this body in accordance with the seasons because he could hardly feel the tips of his fingers despite only being outside for a few minutes at most. With a few flicks of his wrist the space was warm and bright again, albeit quiet and a bit lonely. It caused some of the night’s chill to cling to him even as he curled up under a heavy blanket with a warm cup of cocoa.

He’d intended to settle in with a good book to calm his mind some, but it soon became clear that his thoughts had no intention of slowing down any time soon. He couldn’t stop thinking about Crowley and his glasses and this whole strange situation he’d found himself in. Worse yet was trying to ignore the ache between his legs which became much more noticeable without the dampening effect of the alcohol.

Aziraphale sighed, closing the book for the time being. He was certainly nearing a point of no return. He’d been given a choice to continue forth into the unknown or stay in the safety of the familiar. Unfortunate then that, while he was sure he’d put up a good show of debating it to himself, his decision was already as good as made.

\- / / -

Aziraphale thought it might be a bit of an overstep to call the smell coming from Crowley’s oven heavenly but it certainly was very good. This time around he’d had things moving along before Aziraphale arrived and there was a flurry of black throughout the kitchen wherever he went. Aziraphale noticed that he was dressed down slightly, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, his tie loosened, his jacket nowhere to be found. He tried not to stare too much at the flex of lean muscle in his forearms as he minced vegetables at high rates of speed.

Ultimately, Aziraphale had lasted exactly three days before calling Crowley up and requesting that he please be allowed to return again for dinner. Once the decision was made Crowley seemed uninterested in letting the time stretch further and asked if he was free two evenings from then. He was, of course, and that was that.

It was a quiet night out, still but for the occasional clicking of barren tree branches brushing together. A good few inches of snow had been dropped down on top of London earlier in the week and hadn’t seen fit to go anywhere yet, so it sat and sparkled on the ground, and crunched under Aziraphale’s feet as he walked. He’d fixed some of the temperature issues with his body and while he didn’t walk the whole way, he’d crossed the last half mile or so on foot.

He was the only one outside as far as he could sense. Night had settled above some time ago. Further out from the city he could see the stars blinking up above. They were beautiful as always, but they felt cold, distant to him. There were lights on in other houses, but not as many as he would have thought. Then again, humans did like to travel this time of year.

Whether or not there was any tangible truth to it, the light shining from Crowley’s windows seemed to be the brightest of all and Aziraphale headed unwaveringly towards it, a small boat bobbing along on an icy sea headed for the sanctuary of a nearby lighthouse. Better yet, it seemed like Crowley was waiting for him as the door swung open on his second knock.

There was certainly an undercurrent of anticipation in the air, entwining with the smell of butter and onions and spices that was currently filling the space. They had yet to remark on it, either of them. The beginning of the night almost casual. Aziraphale watched Crowley finish cooking while he sipped at his first glass of wine—the bottle before had been good but this was excellent; impressively old and undoubtedly expensive—and they spoke of nothing that mattered.

By the time the table was being set it was driving Aziraphale a bit crazy. Still he held his tongue and admired the spread instead. As promised, the entrée was meat this time around, baked and drizzled in some sort of sauce, surrounded by various root vegetables. There were potatoes and salad on the side which were dressed up to look admirably fancy. It all looked very warm and hearty and he was eager to try it.

“What sort of meat is it?” Aziraphale asked as Crowley _finally_ was getting around to carving and dishing.

“Pork,” Crowley said after a brief pause. “You’ll see when you taste it.”

Some shuffling of dishes and clinking of silverware later and Aziraphale did just that. It was wonderfully marinated, notes of sage and citrus rising through. The meat was tender, just cooked, and the saltiness of the sauce contrasted well with the sweetness of the cut. Aziraphale hummed happily when he tried it. “It’s delicious,” he announced when he noticed Crowley watching him intently.

Crowley smiled at him, seemingly pleased by the compliment, and moved to begin eating as well. “I’m glad. It’s a specialty of mine.”

“I can tell.” It was a relatively simple meal but no less decadent for it. The potatoes melted in his mouth and the vinaigrette on the salad lent just enough acidity where it was needed. The meat did taste mostly like pork, although there was something about it…well, Aziraphale supposed it must be the sauce which coated his palate well with each bite.

Something in him was glad to see Crowley eat as well. He’d mostly fiddled with his soup last time, but now he ate with near as much vigor with Aziraphale, clearly enjoying the dish. Aziraphale couldn’t help but flush, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. Crowley’s pride and confidence in his own skill was quite attractive. He’d sat across from Aziraphale this time rather than adjacent to him and he felt irritatingly far away. Candles flickered between them, navy blue tonight, just another barrier in his way. He longed to blow them out once and for all.

“Is there a Mrs. Fell?” Crowley asked out of nowhere.

They’d both been eating silently which Aziraphale hardly minded. It was nice to just focus on enjoying a good meal now and again. The question would have been jarring at any time but it was especially so now. “Oh, no,” Aziraphale said, knowing it’d come off defensive without him meaning too.

Crowley licked a stray bit of sauce off the tip of his finger. “Seeing anyone then?”

“No, I’m quite…” _Available? Unfettered? In need? _“…single, I’m afraid.” Guilt rose in his chest and he couldn’t help but ask, “And you?” He knew no one else lived here but that didn’t mean he didn’t have someone.

“I’m the same,” Crowley said and the new weight lifted off of Aziraphale some. “We’re quite alike, you and me, in some ways that you have yet to know. Neither of us is exactly what we seem.”

Aziraphale set his fork aside, the last bit of his food all but forgotten, blocked out by the simple declaration. Panic flashed through him briefly but—he couldn’t know, could he? It wasn’t as though Aziraphale had been being particularly careful, but he always had a glamour up when in the presence of humans to do the legwork for him. No, it was impossible. And moreover, there were no other angels stationed on earth.

Worries abated for the moment, Aziraphale’s mind moved along to what else he might mean and his heart beat faster at the thought. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” he admitted, hoping he wasn’t turning too pink.

Crowley’s smile spread across his face again, slower this time and horribly tempting. Aziraphale had to physically move his eyes from his lips and it didn’t go unnoticed. “That too,” Crowley said, off-hand. The flames of the candles danced as he spoke. “I’d ask you to stay the night now but it wouldn’t really be fair of me.”

Aziraphale about choked in surprise at the admission, his cheeks only growing hotter. He glanced down at his plate, not used to being so direct about it. His cock twitched unhelpfully in his trousers. “Well, that’s… I mean—”

“It could still go that way,” Crowley continued, his voice low and smooth, “if you’d like. But you’ve told me that you’d like to know.” He pushed his shades deftly up his nose a bit further.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure at all what he was talking about anymore, but he was growing desperate to find out. His heart was still fluttering around in his chest, a human reaction to human emotions he supposed. “Yes. Yes, I’d like to know.”

Crowley sat back a bit in his chair, looking him over. “You’re sure?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale complained. He’d wound himself up more than enough before tonight without the need for this as well. “I’m sure. I swear it.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows but at last seemed to give in. “Come here then.”

Aziraphale blinked and it took a moment before he took his meaning. He got unsteadily to his feet and moved slowly around the table, avoiding the fiery barrier entirely. He took the seat next to Crowley, perching on it. This might have been the closest they’d ever been barring the few minutes at the front door. Last time Crowley had sat at the head of the table with Aziraphale next to him around the corner which had provided more space.

Crowley turned toward him and inclined his chin. “Go on.”

Steeling himself, Aziraphale reached out and carefully took hold of the sides of the glasses, lifting them up—trying desperately not to touch Crowley meanwhile—and off. He held his breath while he did just for the sake of doing so. Finally he set them to the side as gently as he could and then turned back.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Aziraphale supposed he had a point, but nothing could have possibly prepared him for the sight before him. It hit him like a hard kick to the stomach and he couldn’t help but scramble back in shock. Crowley was looking right had him, probably had been the whole time with eyes that were decidedly not human. Instead they were a startling yellow that seemed to glow in the candlelight, with irises that were far too big and slits for pupils like a snake.

“Told you it might put you off,” Crowley said, holding his ground where he sat, mostly ignoring Aziraphale’s reaction. “Sort of a shame because we could have had some fun together. Still, I have to say you’ve been the most intriguing angel I’ve ever met, right up until the last. Pursuing knowledge against all advice to the contrary, well… I’d think your lot would know better.”

Aziraphale’s brain was not processing things nearly fast enough, but he couldn’t help it. All his memories of their time together were being completely rewritten, cast in a new light. How could this have happened? Why hadn’t he been able to detect him? “You’re…a demon,” Aziraphale forced himself to say, the word bitter in his mouth.

Crowley just stared at him, unblinking, observing.

Anger sprang up abruptly inside of Aziraphale. He couldn’t believe how foolish he’d been, how ignorant. “You’ve known,” he said, standing up and clutching the back of the chair. “You’ve known this whole time. Why—? What could you have possibly gained from it?”

The demon licked his lips and something in Aziraphale’s gut twisted. “Don’t get too down on yourself. Lots of bodies in and out of this place you see. I really am a psychiatrist of sorts. Good little cover isn’t it? Hides my scent very well.”

Aziraphale shook his head at the explanation. It really was quite the set-up, he had to admit. A chill ran through him at the thought. Anyone could wander in here and think it perfectly safe, and seemingly they did. It occurred to him that his question hadn’t been answered but he pushed forward nonetheless. “Is that what you do? Welcome them in, some of the most vulnerable of humans who are actively seeking help, and damn them to hell? I can’t say much for…beings like you, but at least I used to be able to say that your lot put some work in, same as us. Don’t you have any pride?”

Crowley stood up, pushing his chair to the side and stepped right into Aziraphale’s space. The angel forced himself not to flinch. He wasn’t helpless. He could be back in the shop in a millisecond if he wanted. “That’s rich, coming from you,” he snarled, looming over Aziraphale. “I’ve seen the _work_ that you do. I assume you really were down here to find that man and you’ve done less than lift a finger to help.”

Aziraphale huffed, unable to help feeling a bit ashamed. Unfortunately Crowley had a point. He knew this argument was pointless anyway—miracles and temptations could never be compared in any way that mattered—but it felt good to shout. Back to the point, in that case. “Why waste your time with me then? Especially if you only meant to reveal yourself before—before anything happened.”

Crowley coughed out a laugh and fell back a step. They were still a bit too close for comfort but neither of them moved to remedy it. “You know why.”

Aziraphale hated that he did. More than that, he hated that some small part of him deep down still wanted it too. “Tempting an angel, I take it?” he retorted.

Crowley scoffed. “Angels, as a rule, are dull as dirt. You’re as uppity as the rest of them but at least you’ve got an original thought in your head. Besides, you came to me, remember? You stuck around. You didn’t have to. You could leave now too, but you aren’t.” He leaned back in and Aziraphale had to grit his teeth. “We want the same thing.”

“We do _not_,” Aziraphale objected, looking anywhere but at Crowley and his serpent eyes and his tall, lithe body.

“Oh please.” Crowley brought a hand up to cup his cheek. Aziraphale jerked away, half expecting it to burn. In actuality it was cool and smooth. It traveled over his shoulder, down his side to his waist where it stopped. Crowley dug his fingers into the flesh of his hip, almost possessive. “You’re saying the things you’ve been taught to say, not what you’re actually thinking. I’ve kept you around because I find you interesting. That should say a lot considering I’m not particularly fond of angels.”

Aziraphale shuddered. He needed to move. He should _want _to move. Crowley had a point. Aziraphale didn’t always keep to the rules as much as he knew he should and this was just further proof of that. As much as he wanted to blame his own interest in Crowley on the demon himself, he knew it wasn’t true. He still couldn’t understand his motivation for any of this, but it wasn’t like Aziraphale hadn’t been happy to be in this for just a brief tryst as well. They really were more alike than it seemed.

He swallowed around the horror that came from that realization. “This is insanity. I’m not going to lie with a demon just so you can check a box on your next report,” he hissed.

Crowley’s other hand had found its way to his waist. He leaned in and pressed his face against Aziraphale’s neck. The proximity should have frightened him. “Think whatever you want, angel. I’ve been down here long enough to know that that shite doesn’t matter. I want this and you want this too. It’s as simple as that.”

Aziraphale’s conscience rallied against it, but at his core he knew Crowley was right. “I shouldn’t,” Aziraphale murmured, feeling his defenses beginning to crumble. Later he might be disgusted with himself but at the moment all he wanted to do was throw everything by the wayside and give in. “I shouldn’t want it.” He leaned into Crowley who slid a hand up his spine.

“That’s the best part. If anyone says a thing to you it can be nothing but a temptation if you want it to be. You’re not the first and you won’t be the last. How’s that sound? You can do what you want tonight, anything you want. Sounds a lot like free-will, doesn’t it?”

Crowley’s words were stoking the fire inside him in just the right way to make it roar. He really was being tempted, he knew, and he was slipping fast, letting Crowley take his weight. But heaven, if that didn’t sound wonderful. He whimpered and wrapped his arms around Crowley’s back.

“_Yesss_,” Crowley hissed, “that’s it. Tell me your real name, would you, Mr. Fell?”

Aziraphale almost laughed. “It’s Aziraphale.” He could feel Crowley smile against his neck.

“You’ve wanted me to take you to bed for weeks now, haven’t you Aziraphale?” he whispered, pressing the hot outline of his cock against Aziraphale’s thigh.

Something about the use of his full name—something he hadn’t told anyone else for centuries now—eroded away whatever was left of the false resistance inside of him and he nodded. “Yes.”

“Good boy,” Crowley praised and then abruptly stepped away, leaving Aziraphale to hold himself up again on his own. He extended a hand out, his pupils blown wider than before.

This really was it. Aziraphale had a strange feeling that if he said no right now and meant it, Crowley would let him go. In the end, that was what drove him to step forward and take Crowley’s hand, squeezing it tight so he could hide how much his was shaking. He nodded again.

Crowley grinned at him and pulled him forward. “That way. Down that hall. Last door on the left.”

Aziraphale went, sparing a thought for the mess they were leaving behind before he moved on. Crowley followed after him, keeping a bit of distance between them. Aziraphale peeked over his shoulder once to make sure he was still there and he was, just following. It was an odd feeling particularly when he got to the darker space of the hallway. He felt a bit like he was being hunted.

It was also quite exhilarating.

He hurried toward the room he’d been directed toward and soon found himself in presumably Crowley’s bedroom. He didn’t get much time to look around. The room was mostly dark, lit only by a few dim lamps, and there was a large bed dominating most of the space, and the sheets looked to be black silk—and then arms were wrapping around him from behind and there were teeth on his neck and he stopped paying much attention to anything else.

Aziraphale whined because Crowley’s teeth were sharp, sharper than a human’s surely. Their chase had been drawn out, slow and unassuming, and now, here at the end of it, he most certainly felt caught. The idea made his cock twitch, far harder than it had any right to be already. He tilted his head back onto Crowley’s shoulder and bared his neck.

Crowley slid a hand down between his legs and gave him a squeeze for his trouble. Aziraphale tried to bite back his cry and only partially succeeded. The demon had plastered himself to his back at that point and Aziraphale could feel his arousal pressing up against the swell of his ass.

“Aren’t you something?” Crowley hissed, the sibilant lean of his words clearly purposeful now. The hand that wasn’t busy pressing down against Aziraphale’s cock moved up along his body until it was curled around his throat, not yet squeezing, just holding. “For all your protests, I think you _want _this. Want to be taken and defiled by a big, bad demon. Let me give you want you want so badly, what you dream of, what you never thought you could have.”

Aziraphale keened and the grip on his neck got tighter. The thought of it made his skin feel taut and knees feel weak. Truth be told, when he’d had relations with humans in the past it was always him doing the work, giving them the comfort or pleasure they desired. It was never about his satisfaction. The prospect of letting himself go completely was very attractive as a result. The illicit nature of the affair only made it that much better.

“Tell me,” Crowley insisted, breath hot right next to his ear. He took away the hand that had been lightly stroking Aziraphale through his trousers. “Tell me that this is what you want.”

If Aziraphale didn’t know better he would have sworn that the demon was asking for his consent. “I want it,” he gasped. “I do. Please—”

Crowley pushed him forward, sending him stumbling further into the depths of the room. “On the bed.”

Aziraphale did as he was told, officially too caught up in everything to question it now, which was perhaps for the best. He scrambled onto the slick sheets, turning so he could see Crowley again. He was still standing near the door, but his eyes were raking over him hungrily. It was only some last vestige of pride that kept Aziraphale from simply lying back and spreading his legs.

Crowley didn’t make him wait too long, thankfully. However Aziraphale had a brief flash of clarity when he began to approach which caused him to pause only a few steps in. “Wait,” Aziraphale said, feeling too overcome for how little had happened. Oddly, Crowley listened. “I have one condition.”

“Which is?”

“If I ask you to stop, you will,” Aziraphale said, keeping his voice as steady as he could. He caught Crowley’s eyes and held them. They were still a bit unnerving but it was growing easier to not mind them with time.

Crowley nodded, more sober than Aziraphale would have expected. “That’s a given. Just do me a favor in return and don’t hold back out of some sense of propriety. That way we can have a good honest fuck.” He began to move toward the bed again, only stopping once he was towering over Aziraphale.

Aziraphale bristled at the vulgarity but nodded. “Alright.”

Crowley smiled that razor sharp smile of his and leant down over him, caging him with his hands on either side of his head. “Want a safe word? I’m sure an angel like you knows what that is. I have a good one. I think you’ll like it. How’s ‘Eden?’”

Aziraphale huffed at him. “Rather on the nose, don’t you think?” Still, it would be easy to remember and truth be told he felt better having it if he needed it.

“I’m not one to half-ass it when I’m trying to be sacrilegious,” Crowley joked, something of the odd psychiatrist Aziraphale had presumed to know these last few months creeping out. Then all at once he was kissing Aziraphale roughly and the moment of respite was gone.

Crowley kissed him like a starving man, open-mouthed and reckless. Their teeth clattered far too much for it to be anything other than intentional and sooner than later Aziraphale had a mouthful of Crowley’s tongue. It was not, he quickly realized amid the assault, a particularly human-shaped tongue. It was longer and thinner and, if he had to guess, forked at the end. It was also impressively dexterous.

The kiss stopped far too soon for Aziraphale’s taste, but he supposed that was to be expected. He doubted there would be much foreplay on the menu tonight. He couldn’t bring himself to mind too much seeing how his body was already straining toward release. Crowley moved down his neck using his teeth liberally, marking a haphazard line to the border of his shirt where he paused. Aziraphale leaned to try to see what he was doing and Crowley flicked his most-definitely-forked tongue out in response.

He wasn’t prepared for Crowley’s next move which was rip his vest open in one fell swoop, the buttons flying off and clattering to the floor. Aziraphale squawked in protest at the mistreatment of his clothes. “You beast!” he complained and only got laughter for his trouble.

“What did you expect? For me to slowly undress you and fold your clothes in a neat little pile?” Crowley scoffed, making Aziraphale feel foolish.

“I’d like for you to respect my property is all,” he grumbled, rubbing his fingers over the lack of buttons on the garment.

Crowley seemed unimpressed. “Either I strip you or you do. If you want to do it yourself, you’d best hurry because anything still left on when I’m done—” He began undoing the buttons of his own shirt while he spoke. “—will be removed by me.”

Aziraphale got the picture and scrambled to comply. Crowley had less layers on and was moving quickly so there was no time to dawdle. He spent most of his time on his shirt, undoing the buttons individually. After that he kicked off his shoes and struggled out of the rest of his clothes. He had time to kick his trousers aside before Crowley was on him again, pushing him down into the mattress and biting hard at his shoulder.

He cried out, particularly when Crowley held on for a few seconds too long before releasing him. The demon sat back on his knees and looked Aziraphale over. “Aren’t you a treat?” he said, sinking his fingertips into the meat of Aziraphale’s thighs and urging them apart. “Left the last bit for me, did you? How thoughtful.”

Truthfully Aziraphale hadn’t had time to get his underwear off. It did give him a bit of false modesty as well, which he didn’t mind. Crowley was uninclined toward that sort of thing, hovering over him completely nude, all sharp angles and lean muscle, his cock jutting out before him, already red and dripping. He felt himself clench around nothing at the sight of it.

Crowley made short work of his last article of clothing, ripping them off as savagely as he had the vest, leaving Aziraphale completely bare before him. “There we are.” He made no effort to hide the fact that he was staring directly at his cock. “So desperate for this, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale felt himself twitch under the attention and Crowley all but growled. It was a low, primal sort of noise that made him feel very much like prey. He mewled and spread his legs further. Crowley was hardly touching him and it was killing him. Fortunately that was enough to entice Crowley to pounce again.

He went right for Aziraphale’s chest, taking his nipple and some of the soft skin around it into his mouth and biting down. Aziraphale made a hurt little noise and his hands flew unbidden into Crowley’s hair, holding on. He swore he could feel something budding there, but the sting from where teeth had most definitely broken flesh distracted him.

Crowley sucked on him after, lapping up small amount of blood he’d drawn, and then pausing to catch Aziraphale’s eyes. He noticed the yellow had spread through the demon’s sclera so there was no white left and his pupils had only continued to dilate. It had hurt, but the ache was nothing if not pleasant so he nodded and Crowley did the same to his other breast.

He didn’t linger long, moving quickly down Aziraphale’s body, slotting in closer between his thighs as he went. He’d left behind twin rings of little puncture marks around Aziraphale’s nipples, he noticed and couldn’t help but like them. Once he was low enough Crowley again bit down hard into the ample layer of fat surrounding Aziraphale’s stomach. Aziraphale bucked his hips up, trying to get some sort of friction and failing.

“I could just _ssss_wallow you whole,” Crowley purred. “I bet you’d like that. Show you what you’ve been missing, show you how good it can feel.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whined, shaking with need. “Please.”

Crowley nipped at his stomach again, running his hands up and down his thighs and not moving at all. “Please what?”

“Please,” Aziraphale begged, forcing himself to say it, “suck me.”

“There we are,” Crowley praised and proceeded to take Aziraphale’s entire length down his throat without so much as a warning.

Aziraphale nearly came right then and there, seeing stars and letting out a wail. Crowley’s throat flexed around him, searingly hot and unbearably tight. All Aziraphale could do was wrap his legs around Crowley’s torso for dear life until he pulled off with an obscene _pop_ and gave him a moment of reprieve.

“I take it you’re a fan?” Crowley teased, running the blunt edge of his nail up the underside of Aziraphale’s cock.

“As long as you watch the teeth,” Aziraphale managed to pant out, partially out of true concern.

Crowley cackled at him and took him right back down, pressing his nose into the curls above Aziraphale’s cock and swallowing again and again. Lack of gag reflex aside, Crowley was drooling all over him, the wetness of it dripping down onto his thighs and his balls. Aziraphale was far enough gone that he couldn’t bring himself to care. All he could do was take what he was being given.

He desperately tried not to come so soon but it was difficult when he could feel so viscerally the way the oversensitive head of his cock was being cradled so deep in Crowley’s throat. The idea of it all was getting to him too, the way it must look. Realistically he knew that genitals were more ingrained in the human design than angel and that his were extraneous. It would still hurt if something were to happen to them, however, and seeing how they were currently in Crowley’s very sharp mouth that was a realistic possibility. The idea of that made fear curl acrid in the back of his throat, but the feeling of being so completely in Crowley’s control, at his mercy, well. Thinking of that wasn’t helping him any.

Crowley pulled back after some impossibly long stretch of time and drug just the edge of his teeth up along the length of Aziraphale’s cock as he went. Aziraphale gasped and squirmed at the feeling, but nothing further came of it. Instead Crowley introduced more variety into his movements, sucking on the head, licking up the shaft, all the while keeping a firm grip on Aziraphale’s thighs. The angel wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than the suffocating stagnancy from before.

It didn’t matter much. Either way it was only pushing him closer to the edge. Colors were bursting on the back of his eyelids—when had he closed them?—and he sought any sort of distraction. He shifted his legs and realized he could feel something oddly slick beneath his feet. He pried his eyes open and managed to get a look the next time Crowley bent all the way down, his shoulder blades jutting out harshly due to the angle.

Scales, he realized. Two oblong patches of dark, shiny scales where wings would usually sprout if they were present. Aziraphale was struck again by the reality of what was happening to him and by the desire to touch them.

It was a good distraction but it couldn’t put off the inevitable. Crowley seemed to sense it because he pulled off to tell Aziraphale, “Come if you need to. Just make sure you stay hard for me when you’re done. I’ve nowhere near had my fill of you yet.”

That did him in. Aziraphale clung hard to Crowley and came with a shout. Crowley swallowed all of his release and kept sucking until tears sprouted in the corners of Aziraphale’s eyes. He’d forced himself to stay aroused as ordered and that had made him all the more over-sensitive.

“Too much,” he sobbed, unsure if Crowley would even listen to him, still bleary from his orgasm. “Please, it’s too much.”

Crowley did pull back, moving forward to press under his jaw again. “But it’s not, is it? Or else you’d say our word, wouldn’t you? You remember it?”

“Eden,” Aziraphale said obligingly. Crowley kissed him as reward, his mouth still tasting tellingly salty and musky and sticky.

“Can you taste yourself?” Crowley asked, voice gravelly from his work, close enough so that their lips brushed when he spoke.

“Yes,” Aziraphale murmured, reaching up to wind his arms around Crowley’s back and do what he’d wanted to earlier.

Crowley seemed to have been about to continue that line of questioning when Aziraphale rubbed over his scales and he broke off with a surprised grunt. They really were smooth like polished gemstones, cool in contrast to the rest of Crowley’s skin which was putting off heat in waves. Aziraphale pressed his fingers against the grain curiously and found he could slip just the tips of them underneath the scales he wanted. Crowley groaned and Aziraphale smoothed them back down.

“Are they a conscious choice?” Aziraphale asked, curious and wanting to ground himself if he could before they continued. Besides, it was certainly something to hear Crowley make a sound like that because of him. “Or are they natural?”

Crowley huffed and nipped at Aziraphale’s neck in retaliation. “They’re part of me. It’s all part of me. I can choose to show them or not. Like them, do you?”

Aziraphale could just barely see how they glimmered in the low light of the room, not unlike the night sky. “I do.”

Crowley swore against his jugular. “They very well might not be the last of it,” he said vaguely and then he was moving again.

His hands almost burned as they roamed over Aziraphale’s skin, rubbing over where he’d left bite marks previously. He settled down between Aziraphale’s legs again, hooking them up over his shoulders and causing Aziraphale to bend harshly. He took Aziraphale’s cock in hand and gave it a few tortuously slow strokes. “To think that the features of a demon make you hot. You really are a bad angel, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale shuddered, a bit of shame bubbling up from his stomach. The dangerous part of wanting things was that you couldn’t really control what it was you wanted. He was distracted soon by Crowley pulling his cheeks apart, exposing his hole. He couldn’t help but struggle beneath him some and it earned him nails digging into the back of his thigh.

“Don’t act modest now.” He rubbed his thumb around his hole and the sensitive skin there twitched beneath his finger. “You’re _starving_ for this. You’ll have to wait a bit longer though. It’s still my turn.”

The first swipe of Crowley’s tongue across his entrance came as a surprise and Aziraphale yelped. Crowley ignored him and kept licking, running his tongue around the rim. The lewdness of it made it so Aziraphale felt strung between embarrassment and arousal. He tilted toward the latter when Crowley began to truly eat him out.

He wasn’t so patient this time, greedily taking his fill and wasting no time actually pressing inside. Aziraphale did his best to relax but it was difficult. He wasn’t about to voice it, but no one had done this to him before so the sensations were novel and strange. Crowley didn’t seem to care much how he felt about it and managed to work his tongue deep inside of him. Arousal shot through Aziraphale’s veins like a bolt of electricity.

Hell, his tongue was deep and he really could move it however he wanted. Aziraphale felt it rub up against his walls, swirling around them and pinpointing his prostate with ease. He groaned, unable to help himself. The penetration was so subtle but the result was addictive. His stomach churned with uncertainty in contrast. If he closed his eyes it felt like a sentient _thing _was moving inside of him. The thought edged him toward panic so he reached to sink his hands back into Crowley’s hair to remind himself that wasn’t actually the case.

That wasn’t the most comforting thing in the world because there was certainly something or other sprouting from Crowley’s head. _Horns_? Aziraphale wasn’t sure. His vision was too spotty to be of much use. Crowley retracted his tongue and started sucking at his hole instead. Aziraphale teetered back over along the scale from strange to very good again. His cock ached knowing Crowley’s hot, wet mouth was right there and he ended up reaching down just to see what would happen if he tried to touch himself.

Crowley actually growled and snapped at his hand. “You’re mine and mine only. Only I get to touch you and only I decide when you come, angel.”

Aziraphale shivered at how possessive the outburst was even as he yanked his hand back to safety. He dared to imagine it, being owned, kept as a thing worthy of being coveted. He pressed his head hard into the mattress and drug his mind back to the present where Crowley was biting the insides of his thighs, marking them up, staking claim. Then he was up against him again and his tongue was back inside. Crowley fucked him with it this time and Aziraphale clung hard to what were most certainly horns sprouting from Crowley’s head.

After he had some time to adjust, Aziraphale found that the sensation was infuriating more than anything else. It wasn’t enough anything—not enough penetration, not enough friction, nothing. He began to beg mindlessly for more, unable to help himself. He slid along the silk sheets below him, struggling in Crowley’s grasp.

For some time it seemed futile, but suddenly Crowley was moving away from him and breaking contact entirely. Aziraphale sobbed at the loss, at that point sunk deep into a haze of pleasure and desperation from which there was no exit. He forced his eyes open, seeking his only tether to this world. He felt fragmented and not at all like the person who’d stepped into this house an eternity ago. The person he was now only knew communication through touch and want, giving and receiving.

Crowley was above him again, sitting up on his knees, stark even in the low light of the room. His horns were fully formed now and Aziraphale saw that they’d manifested as a pair of jet black antlers, razor sharp on the edges, sitting on his head like a twisted crown. The scales had spread from his back over his shoulders as well and he was looking at Aziraphale like he wanted to eat him alive, like he wanted to suck out his marrow and pick at his bones until he was no longer recognizable as anything but someone—or something—entirely new.

Aziraphale thought he should feel afraid, lying here in front of this creature limp and naked and defenseless, but he didn’t. He wanted nothing more than to be subsumed.

It was a struggle but he managed to turn over, getting up on his knees presenting himself as shamelessly as he could manage. The moment of anticipation between was sweet and sharp, and he savored it. Then Crowley was on him, mounting him truly like a beast, splitting him open on his cock with a snarl. It was a stretch, but nothing Aziraphale couldn’t have prevented if he’d wanted to. He’d opened himself up, slicked the way, but just enough.

They both groaned as their hips met. Crowley took a moment to scrape his teeth over where Aziraphale’s wings sprouted when he let them. He could feel them flexing on a different plane and it was all he could do to keep them from bursting forth. There was a hand around Aziraphale’s neck, holding, testing.

“This is what you wanted all along wasn’t it? Wanted to be fucked senseless on a demon’s cock?” Crowley demanded, squeezing around his throat.

Aziraphale made some kind of broken noise in the back of his throat. He sounded like some kind of wounded animal, he thought, and felt like one too. He bucked back against Crowley, desperate for him to move already.

“You want me to ruin you?” Crowley continued, clamping tighter yet around his neck. Aziraphale knew he was in no real danger from the gesture but it made his heart speed up all the same. “Give you what no one else can? You want to know what it’s like to be tainted from the inside out?” At that he pulled back some and ground back in.

All Aziraphale could do with the amount of air he was being allowed was nod frantically until Crowley released him somewhat. He gasped for air he didn’t need. “Fuck me,” he begged. “I can’t stand it any longer.”

It was the right thing to say. Crowley pulled almost all the way out and shoved back in hard enough to have him pitching forward into the sheets. He pounded into him like that, pressing his face down into the mattress and keeping his hips raised just enough so that he was able to fuck into him as roughly as he wanted. Aziraphale let himself be handled, lost in the way it felt, in the surrender of it all. He reached back blindly until he found Crowley’s hand and guided it back to his throat.

_This too_, he wanted to say, _take it all from me. Everything_. It all came out as a series of moans but Crowley seemed to understand anyway. He wrapped his thin fingers back around Aziraphale’s throat and squeezed hard enough that he began to struggle to make noise. If he breathed it was more of a wheeze than anything else and he knew if he kept at that he’d begin to feel lightheaded.

It was perfect.

Aziraphale had never known such freedom. He was free to let go entirely, to forget who and what he was—or at least not give a damn about it—and to feel. Crowley was relentless, driving into him with enough strength to surely break the bones of someone weaker than him. As relatively in control as he’d seemed this whole time Aziraphale could clearly feel his wild need for this in the way he fucked him. Crowley bit at whatever he could reach, scraping and puncturing, snarling and hissing.

Aziraphale felt some of his ethereal aura slipping through, glowing from within him. He would have been more concerned if he couldn’t feel its perfect opposite emanating from Crowley, hellfire and brimstone scalding him where their bodies touched. His balls were drawn up so tight against his body and he knew all at once that he was going to come from this, just from Crowley’s cock in him.

Crowley railed him thoroughly for a few minutes more before he finally lost it for a second time, spilling over himself and the sheets below. Crowley’s hand clamped down hard on his windpipe when he did, effectively trapping his cry within his throat and making the room spin. His lungs burned senselessly when he was at last released and he found that Crowley was still making good use of his body. And it was so much, too much almost. Everything was growing fuzzy around the edges and his whole being was on fire and it felt like rapture.

Impressive as his stamina had been thus far, Crowley began to stutter and lose himself not long after. He bit Aziraphale’s shoulder hard, the same one as before, ripping through muscle and sinew, and shoved in as deep as he could, emptying himself deep inside of Aziraphale.

Aziraphale cried at the wound and really couldn’t keep his wings in any longer. They unfurled and he collapsed and the world faded away.

\- / / -

Aziraphale awoke with a start, disoriented. He pulled his wings back in first and foremost and then things began trickling back. His whole body ached from use and something burned deep inside of him. He opened his eyes to find himself still in Crowley’s bed, albeit much cleaner than before. He looked around, something frantic clawing at the inside of his chest and found Crowley sitting next to him, looking much more passably human than he had the last time he’d seen him. Only the eyes remained, unreadable at the moment.

Aziraphale hesitated a moment before he reached for him. Surprisingly, Crowley came, settling back on top of him and kissing him, deep and slow. It was sweeter than anything he’d done so far and Aziraphale was happy to drown in it. During a pause something came over Aziraphale and he reach up to press his teeth lightly into Crowley’s neck in return. It was nothing, wouldn’t even leave a mark. Still, it felt right. Crowley chuckled at him in response.

Crowley kissed down along his neck to his shoulder which ached as well. Aziraphale recalled what had happened and felt slightly nervous when Crowley placed his mouth on it again. Ultimately all he did was suck gently at it, lapping over the torn flesh occasionally. It stung at first but the pain soon faded into a dull throb. Aziraphale threaded his fingers through Crowley’s soft red hair and let him do as he would.

Crowley collapsed down next to him when he decided he was finished. He didn’t look overly triumphant, just sated for the time being.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale murmured because it felt like the thing to say.

Crowley reopened his golden eyes to flash him a smile. “Any time.” He yawned widely, and though his teeth still looked quite sharp it rather took the edge off the whole demon affect. He flicked his wrist and the lights in the house turned off as one. “Stay the night. I promise I won’t pull a Persephone on you while you sleep.”

Aziraphale flushed at the comparison. He knew he probably shouldn’t, but he hardly had the energy for logical thought at the moment, so instead he curled up in the soft, dark cradle of Crowley’s bed and slept for the first time in years.

True to form, he didn’t remain unconscious for long. It’d never been something he’d enjoyed much. He dozed on occasion and had been known to sleep for a few hours straight every decade or so, and that was about it. Aziraphale sat up and was again forced to recall his unfamiliar surroundings.

It didn’t take long. He sighed and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. The silk sheets pooled in his lap and covered him some. It didn’t keep him from feeling painfully exposed. What _had_ he been thinking? Everything had turned out alright, nothing had happened, but something very well _could_ have happened, should have happened even.

He ran his hands down his face. It was embarrassing, in hindsight, how little convincing it had taken for him to go to bed with what was, realistically, the enemy. How easily he’d given in to such carnal desires. _You really are a bad angel_, Crowley’s voice echoed in his mind. In fairness, the demon had certainly known which buttons to push. Aziraphale had, admittedly, always disagreed with some of the ways in which Heaven was run and it had only been exacerbated by his time on Earth. He’d done well enough at keeping it to himself thus far. Now, however, there was tangible proof of it burned into the back of his mind in the form of a memory for the rest of eternity.

Aziraphale’s body ached with mementos from the night previous. Looking down, he could see imprints of Crowley’s teeth all over his body, bruises along his hips. He reached up to press a hand against his shoulder which smarted worst of all, dampening the pain there. He knew he could heal it if he wanted to and in time he would, just not now.

Clearly, he hadn’t learned his lesson at all.

Truthfully, it almost felt like some sort of fever dream. He could still see the shadow of Crowley’s horns hovering over him, the glint of his scales, the hunger in his eyes. He realized belatedly that the demon was nowhere to be found. He was very much alone in the bed which he wished he regretted less than he did.

There were a million questions that Aziraphale wished he could ask him. Initial shock aside, he obviously knew demons existed and had met some in the past, now and again, only briefly. Crowley wasn’t much like them. It seemed he’d been on Earth for a while as well which was intriguing and the way he spoke of things like free-will, well… Not every demon was one of the Fallen, but Aziraphale had a feeling that Crowley might be one of the rare exceptions.

Aziraphale decided he ought not to stay any longer at the very least. Glancing at the clock he saw it was still early in the morning, some time yet until sunrise. He could think in the safety of his bookshop. He forced himself to get up, alleviating some of the aches his body had accumulated overnight as he did, and dressed quickly. The room was warm but he had other reasons for wanting to be clothed again.

He frowned at the state of his waistcoat and worse yet his underwear. At least the rest of his clothes were intact and unstained, albeit wrinkled. Once dressed, he knew very well that he could teleport back to the shop in the blink of an eye if he wished. That was probably the proper reaction for an angel to have, waking up in a demon’s lair.

That was, of course, not what he ended up doing. He exited the bedroom and walked down the hall, same as before. The house was dark and silent and still. He emerged into the dining area to find that everything had been cleaned up at some point and the candles put out. The wet bar had been wiped and the wine bottle was nowhere to be found.

Aziraphale continued on, feeling like he was having to push through the darkness of the space and was walking slower for it. He descended the stairs into the foyer cum waiting area and peered to the left into the kitchen and breakfast nook. The silver surfaces gleamed back at him, spotless. There were no dishes in the sink, no sign that a meal had been cooked here less than twelve hours ago.

He turned again and paused at the door. He thought about reaching for it and did nothing of the sort. He was looking, he realized, looking for Crowley. Something inside of him was refusing to leave without another word and he was being pulled along by it like a fish on a hook, snagged by its gills.

He looked in the office next and it too was empty, almost painfully so. The ceiling stretched high above, out of reach and the large windows loomed, opaque and reflecting back only what was inside like cloudy mirrors. The antlers mounted over the fireplace struck him differently now. They seemed to reach toward him like clawed hands even as they were frozen and dead as the trees outside.

Aziraphale kept on. It didn’t occur to him to call out for whatever reason. His voice seemed out of reach and he thought this must be what it felt like to try to walk in a dream. He’d read descriptions of it before many times and now he thought he understood. He found his way back to the kitchen. On a whim he poked his head into the herb closet. He’d only glanced in briefly before but now, further in, he could see that there was another set of stairs nestled in the back corner, leading down. It wasn’t common to see a house with a basement, but he knew there were some.

He’d be venturing into an area he hadn’t been shown, he knew, if he went down. It would be crossing a line of sorts. He managed to find his voice at last and called, “Crowley?” Nothing but silence rang back at him.

Aziraphale supposed he’d come this far. And so, he went further into the stomach of the house. This staircase was narrow and almost rickety. It creaked some under his feet in protest and he hurried to be off of it. He’d never been one for small spaces, and while the basement wasn’t claustrophobic it was far from roomy. It was a strange space; that much was certain. At first it appeared to be only for storage. There were boxes stacked here and there. Aziraphale could see books poking out of some of them. However, there was a narrow path through the small towers that led deeper in which he took.

This space didn’t look like a place for storage at all. It was tiled with a large metal table at the center and counters along the edges of the room. Two large refrigerators hummed together along one wall, adjacent to an impressively large sink. It almost looked like an extra kitchen.

That wasn’t so surprising considering Crowley’s apparent enjoyment of cooking—a strange thing for demon to have, but then again, he was an angel who owned a bookstore so he couldn’t say much. It would have been easy to acknowledge with a glance, assume and move on, but something felt off about the space.

Further in yet, he saw an expansive collection of knives hung along the wall. It wasn’t as unsettling in the context, but he still didn’t much care for anything that looked like a weapon and certainly not twenty of them hung in a row. There were hooks on the ceiling too, he noticed, tucked up mostly out of sight, and a drain in the middle of the room right under the table.

It seemed now more like the backroom of a butcher shop than a kitchen. Aziraphale felt his stomach turn at the thought. Yet even that wasn’t what was making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

It was the inescapable aura of humanity seeping out from the space. That was present all over in Crowley’s home but here it was almost as overwhelming as it would be in the middle of a crowd. This was the source of it, not the office, not the waiting room, but here. That was strange in and of itself, but that wasn’t the end of it. The scent, if it could be called that, was off, like milk a few weeks expired having gone rancid. He could still tell what it was, but it wasn’t quite right.

It reminded him of something and a wave of cool dread washed over him when he realized what it was. He could leave, he knew. He could leave now and be safe from whatever was lurking here. He shouldn’t be here, he could feel it in his bones.

Aziraphale clenched his hands into fists. No, he’d been doomed from the moment he’d come down here.

He had to know.

There was nothing else obvious in the space that could be easily opened and inspected and so he moved toward the fridges, drawn again by something deep within himself, yanked along until he was standing before them.

A cemetery, he thought. It smelled like a graveyard.

He pulled open the door of one of the fridges, resigned, and still managed to be engulfed in horror at the sight.

Not everything was recognizable but given everything else it was obvious enough what the more neatly packed, vague cuts were. Frigid air flowed freely from the appliance and out into the room, cold enough that this had to be a freezer rather than a refrigerator. All the better to store the meat.

There were limbs, still attached to hands and feet, chopped off right at the joint stacked neatly on each shelf. The fingers were stuck eternally in whatever position they’d held last and frost crept along stumps on the other end. It was organized carnage laid out before him and he knew he would never be able to un-see it. His eyes ran frantically across the mess, hardly looking at anything for more than a few seconds until they snagged on something in particular.

The man he’d been sent to find—Will, he remembered—his wife had pointed out to them a detail several times over as something recognizable about her husband. His wedding ring was quite unique, made of loose golden gears and bits that he liked to tinker with in his spare time. It was very interesting to look at and so Aziraphale had remembered it.

He saw the ring now and slammed the freezer door shut.

He thought he might be sick of all things, but he doubted he could physically throw up. Instead, he ran out of the space as quickly as he could, pounding up the stairs, chasing fresh air, anything but the scent of death and awful truth that was currently suffocating him.

Aziraphale paused only briefly once he reached the pantry once more, leaning over and gasping in air. He was shaking, he realized, shaking from the revelation of what this was, of what Crowley truly was. Hot tears fell down his cheeks in a rush. What did that make him?

He had to keep moving. He had to get out. He couldn’t stand to be here a second longer.

Aziraphale burst out of the closet and found Crowley leaning up against the kitchen island, waiting. He froze where he stood, pinned like a dead moth to a collector’s board. Crowley didn’t make any move to approach him, only looked at him with those unsettling eyes of his.

Something about seeing him again in the flesh before him, disarmingly dressed down in only dark jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, made his realizations continue to grow in number, a knife sliding deeper into his ribs. He remembered the meal, the strange taste of the meat. Everything clicked together and he collapsed back against the wall.

Aziraphale shook his head at Crowley. There was nothing he could say to him that would even begin to express his disgust, his anger, the sick feeling of betrayal and understanding burning like poison in the back of his throat.

“Was it worth it?” Crowley asked. “Was it worth it to know?”

“Monster,” Aziraphale spat at him, unable to help himself. “Demon.”

Crowley only continued to stare. “Call me whatever you’d like. We’re more alike than you’ll ever know, you and me.”

That was it. Aziraphale couldn’t stand there a second longer. “I’m nothing like you,” Aziraphale snapped and then he was running again, around the corner and straight out the front door, into the waning night.

He glanced back over his shoulder, unable to shake the feeling that he was being chased, but he was alone again in the night. Crowley’s house now was the only one with lights on, dim in the paling grey of the morning. It felt like a searchlight. Aziraphale didn’t look back a second time.

\- / / -

The police received an anonymous tip about the disappearance of Will Graham which they were quick to investigate, seeing how they had no other leads. This wasn’t exactly a high-publicity case, so it was more likely that the call was real. When they arrived at the address they found that the house was empty. Not a single bit of evidence was left behind, aside from a single severed arm with a very familiar ring on its finger.

\- / / -

“And so, he was murdered after all,” Aziraphale said to finish off his report. He was standing in front of a panel of his superiors in the blinding white light that was pervasive all throughout Heaven.

Gabriel nodded. “I see.” He glanced at the others. “Good work, Aziraphale. I’m glad we at least have some closure. All’s well that ends well I suppose.”

Aziraphale blinked, not understanding. He hated to even think about what had happened, despite not having received any indication that the others knew or cared about what had actually occurred, and now this was the response he got? “What…what do you mean?” he asked, his eyebrows drawing together. “I said he was dead.”

“Oh I know,” Gabriel said, giving him one of his strange, haughty looks. “That was the point. You were looking for him so you could kill him, after all.”

Aziraphale felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on him. “That’s why you sent me. To…kill him.”

Gabriel nodded. “It’s not great someone else got to him first.”

“Probably someone already doomed to the Other Side,” Sandalphon agreed, whispering as if they needed to be clandestine.

Aziraphale swallowed hard. He hadn’t said anything about Crowley. He knew he should, but he just couldn’t bring himself to. Especially not now. There was his voice in his head again: _We’re more alike than you’ll ever know_.

He felt frozen with fear as if he was once again standing in that basement and in the presence of the horrible truth of it all.

“Well, that’s it for now,” Gabriel said, standing to wrap things up, horribly casual. “We’ll call you again when we have something else for you to do. In the meantime there are some priests in Essex who could use a bit of a nudge back in the right direction if you get the chance.”

Aziraphale forced himself to nod, feeling hollow inside. Everything else was a blur until he got back to the shop. He locked the door physically behind him and went right to the back to make a cup of tea. His hands shook as he poured and he nearly missed scalding himself. He went to set the kettle back onto the stove when he noticed there was a note pinned on his small refrigerator—hardly ever used but good for chilling bottles of champagne when he was in the mood or keeping certain items he picked up from bakeries from melting—which had most definitely not been there before.

His mouth ran dry and part of him wanted nothing more than to burn it immediately. He didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

He didn’t touch it at least, only looked it over. It was old, sturdy parchment, he noted, good quality. There was a sigil burned into the middle of it that Aziraphale could instinctively read. _Crowley_. It could be used to seek the demon out wherever he was, he knew.

Underneath there was a line of messy, slanted script.

Aziraphale clenched his teeth together and the scar on his shoulder ached. He ripped the note down and crumpled it in his hand, ignoring the way the sigil burned at his skin.

_If you’re ever feeling hungry for seconds_.

**Author's Note:**

> comments from original posting of this: [here](https://twitter.com/aliceecrivain/status/1192998985931210752)
> 
> i apologize for hideously slandering crowley's character by insinuating he would ever be well-read enough to be a psychiatrist i won't do it again
> 
> ALSO:
> 
> alternate au where crowley is still habbinal but can't cook for shit:
> 
> crowley, exploding a hot dog in the microwave: bone apple teat


End file.
